


Mistletoe

by merlinsearlobe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Mistletoe, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2019-09-29 07:22:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17199107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merlinsearlobe/pseuds/merlinsearlobe
Summary: At the Order's Christmas party five years after the end of the war, a distracted Remus Lupin falls victim to enchanted mistletoe. Rooted to the spot, he can only be freed by a kiss...or perhaps, as he and Hermione find out, rather more than a kiss.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A fic for the festive season, and possibly to prove to myself that I can write some angst-free Remus/Hermione! Oh, and smut. Rather a lot of it to come.
> 
> Slight AU: Remus lives, the twins live

"Traditionally, it meant a man was allowed to kiss any woman standing under the mistletoe, and it would be bad luck for her if she refused. Our version is far better, you see. More progressive," George was saying conversationally. They were passing through the rooms of The Burrow, checking on the decorations for the Christmas party that evening.

"How so?" Remus enquired, though he was only mildly interested.

George grinned. "Anyone can get stuck under our mistletoe, and anyone can free them – man or woman. And there's no bad luck nonsense, if you refuse the kiss, you're simply stuck."

"Oh. Stuck for how long?" They entered the kitchen.

"For three––oh, whoops! Well, there you go."

For Remus had discovered that he suddenly could no longer move. He stared daggers at the twin, who was now feigning surprise. 

"I swear, I forgot that one was there...almost walked into it myself, look..."

"George, turn it off."

George shook his head. "I can't, I'm afraid. It's spell-proof. We made sure."

Remus was already trying various spells, muttering curses under his breath in between, but it seemed George was telling the truth. The mistletoe stubbornly stayed put, and thus so did Remus. 

"I'm afraid only a kiss can free you," George ventured, keeping a careful distance between himself and Remus's arms. "And, you know, I'd offer, but...well...alright, I lied. It's a kiss, but we thought it'd be more fun if it required sort of _more_..."

"Sort of  _more_?" Remus said, very quietly. "What do you mean?"

"More than I'm willing to do," George said, making an apologetic face. "But I'm sure you'll find someone who might be willing!"

"Or I suppose," Remus growled, "I shall simply have to stand right here for the next three hours."

"Three nights."

Remus' voice was deadly quiet now. "What?"

"Three nights," said George, backing slowly further away from him. "It's...er...we thought it would be more fun this way. It's a prototype...we haven't begun selling it yet, you know."

 

* * *

 

There had been no shortage of offers for help at first, as people trickled into the party. Several people – Fleur, Bill, a former classmate of Harry's named Lavender Brown, even a loyal Harry himself – had tried to free him from the charmed (or, rather, cursed, in his increasingly darkening thoughts) mistletoe. He had unwillingly accepted their chaste pecks upon his lips (Lavender's rather longer than the others), and none of it had worked. The twins unhelpfully informed him, again, that it would require more.

"How  _much_ more?" he demanded, beginning to somewhat lose his composure after having received another two kisses, this time from Molly and another former classmate of Harry's whose name he had forgotten. 

"Possibly a snog," said Fred.

"Possibly," agreed George. "Though..."

"Though this one seems to be one of the first we've made."

"So we're not sure how much of a snog will be needed."

"Perhaps just a slight one. Or perhaps a...significant one."

"We  _might_ have gone a bit far."

"We're sorry, Remus."

"And we're sure Mum will feed and water you if it comes down to staying the three nights here."

It was, it seemed, truly coming down to that. At least, Remus thought, it was not near the full moon; he would be able to stand here for three nights if it really came to that. And it likely would, for somehow everyone at the party, man or woman, seemed to be married or engaged or otherwise attached, and their respective partners were naturally unwilling to permit significant snogging with Remus Lupin. No matter how much they insisted that they cared for him immensely as a friend.

"I'm really sorry, Remus," Harry was saying now. "I'll find you someone, I swear."

"It's alright, Harry."

"I can't believe everyone...oh, hang on." Harry looked up. "Hermione's coming in soon, she's just arrived back from her year overseas. We could always ask her."

Remus shook his head at once. He hadn't seen Hermione in a year – none of them had, she'd been on her overseas placement – but they had grown surprisingly close during that time. They'd possibly traded messages more often than anyone else, if only because none of the others were as comfortable with the muggle technology that became useful over long distances.

"No," he said. "We don't need to ask her. I mean, this is just a rather ridiculous way to...I'd really rather wait, Harry."

"Right," Harry said. "Yeah, you're right. Well...it'll be nice to see her again."

"Yes," Remus agreed. "It will."

 

* * *

 

 

And so Remus remained in the kitchen of The Burrow for the next few minutes of the party, avoiding the variously pitying and apologetic glances sent his way whenever people passed by the doorway. He tried to hide his unfortunate predicament from those who did not yet know, leaning casually on the counter nearest him and pretending to be eternally fixing his drink, as if he'd suddenly become an extremely fussy drinker of cocktails. Still, he would manage. Three nights in the kitchen of one of the most generous hosts in all of wizarding Britain? He had certainly managed in far worse circumstances. 

Remus was still brooding over the best ways to magically relieve himself during the next three nights when he found himself in the warm hug of a curly-haired witch who smelt exceedingly lovely. Said witch pulled back to give him a delighted smile, then, and revealed herself to be Hermione Granger.

"Remus! Oh, you've been hiding in the kitchen all this time," she said. "I've missed you!"

"I've missed you too," he smiled, holding her at arms' length; she looked bright, happy. The year away had done her good, then. He really had missed her; somehow he felt he knew her better than ever, now, after the conversations they'd had all year. They had become quite close. 

 _Close friends and that's it_ , he told himself strictly, for there was a funny sort of feeling in his stomach that he was not used to associating with Hermione Granger. It was the way she smelled, some sort of perfume that very much agreed with him, and the warm way she was looking at him. Friends, friends, friends. Former _student_ , in fact. Formerly a girl, just a child. (Except that this meant she was _not_ a girl anymore...and she wasn't. She was a woman. But he couldn't _think_ about that, and all it entailed, he couldn't.)

 _Get a grip,_ he thought.  _What on earth are you thinking about? Has being stuck here already addled your brain?_

"Let's find somewhere to sit," Hermione was saying, brushing his forearm with a hand and just beginning to move toward the door. "I've so much to tell you about that last rune we were talking about last week..."

"Oh," Remus said, staying put. "I'd, er, rather stay here."

Hermione paused. "Here?"

Remus nodded, gestured vaguely around the kitchen. "Yes, I...I'd like to," he finished, lamely.

A familiar look was gathering on her face: one of suspicion crossed with determination to get to the bottom of matters. "Why is that, Remus?"

"It's – quiet...I need some time on my own..." Remus said, over the din of the garden gnomes shouting loudly outside about some sort of family dispute.

His heart sank, however, for she had already noticed. Of course she would. Brightest witch of her age, wasn't she? Of any age.

She was looking right at the mistletoe above his head, even though his increasingly desperate wandwork had somehow reduced said mistletoe to half its former size and turned it an odd shade of green.

"Ah," Hermione said. "Mistletoe."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus gives in. Hermione has thoughts.

For a moment, she and Remus simply stared at each other. Then he sighed.

"Yes," he said, grudgingly. "Mistletoe. But it's really no big deal – I'll just be stuck here for a bit longer, that's all. You should go ahead and join the others. I'll catch up with you later, Hermione."

"Honestly, has  _no one_ offered to just give you a kiss?" Hermione demanded.

How incredibly selfish of them, if that were the case – it was just a bloody kiss, after all, and Remus Lupin was hardly the worst person in the world to share a kiss with. In fact, now that she thought about it, he ranked rather highly on her list of people-she'd-kiss-to-free-from-mistletoe.

"Er – no," said Remus. He paused. "That is, people have offered, yes. They've been very kind."

"It just hasn't worked." Hermione raised her eyebrows. "They've done something to the mistletoe, haven't they."

Remus scowled, and she found it somewhat endearing, as he rarely did so. "Yes."

"What exactly have they done?" Hermione was aware that somehow her voice had fallen a little, both in pitch and in volume; it wasn't wise, was it, to speak of such matters in a low and husky tone? It made things rather...intimate. 

Though...she was rather liking that, she realised. Remus was...he was attractive, she'd always thought that. Yes, she'd gotten over her crush on him long ago, but their conversations this past year had undeniably rekindled a renewed affection for him. And now this affection, she pondered, seemed to have become physical as well as emotional.

Remus seemed to have caught on to her tone, judging by the swift flush in his cheeks and his quickly averted eyes. She couldn't quite tell yet, however, whether it was discomfort or some sort of realisation on his end as well. She wanted to find out, though. Suddenly she needed to know. 

"They...well, they've said it needs more than a kiss. A...a bit of a snog, so they called it. Possibly a significant snog."

She laughed. Remus flushed again, which was definitely doing something to her heart now, something fuzzy and tingly and rather exciting. "A _significant snog_?"

"Yes." He finally met her gaze, though only for a second before he broke the eye contact again. But that second was enough to confirm for Hermione the intensity that had crept into the room, the unexpected and delicious tension now thickening between them. "I wouldn't subject anyone to that, of course, so I'll just wait it out."

"Well," she said. "You are a patient man, Remus. How long is the wait?"

Now there was a pained look on his face. "Not too bad."

"How bad is it?"

"Nothing I can't handle," he said, firmly, whilst giving her an unconvincing smile.

"How  _long_ , Remus?"

"Not that long! Three nights."

Hermione stared at him, genuinely taken aback now. " _What?_ "

"Yes, only three nights." Remus folded his arms across his chest, shifting uncomfortably on the spot of floor where the mistletoe kept him. "Don't worry about it, Hermione. Go have fun, you've just got back."

"This is ridiculous, Remus. I can't just leave you standing here for three nights!" Hermione glared at one of the twins, just passing by the kitchen door, who blanched at the sight of her and quickly sped on. She turned back to Remus crossly. "If no one else can, Remus, I'll do it." 

She thought she caught his eyes on her lips for a split-second before he spoke again: "No, Hermione..."

"It's not a big deal," she said, dragging her own eyes away from Remus' mouth. "We can always do it quickly and get it over with."

Remus was quiet for a moment; he seemed to be assessing her determination to press him on the matter. She crossed her arms and waited, though she smiled at him as well. She was being altruistic, surely. She couldn't in good conscience leave him stuck here for three entire days. 

Well, she could. But then she wouldn't get to kiss him, would she?

She was being altruistic, mostly. Altruistic, yes, if selfishly as well.

"Erm – alright––"

Hermione clapped her hands together, then regretted it; it wouldn't do to seem so transparently delighted, surely. "You'll let me, Remus?"

"Er, yes," he mumbled. "Er – thank you. That is, I...erm. Just quickly, you know. Thank you."

"It's really no sacrifice on my part." Hermione tried not to beam at him. "If _you_ want to, I mean, with me...I understand if you don't, of course..."

"I do," Remus uttered, perhaps a little quickly, and going slightly pink again. "I mean, Hermione, it's you who...shouldn't have to..."

"Alright," she said, decidedly, beginning to move closer to him. "Let's just do it, then."

"Right," Remus said. He swallowed. She was looking at his throat, she realised. She looked up. The line of his jaw was clean, strong; she'd never consciously thought of it before, though she was certainly thinking it now. His lips, so soon to be upon hers, were pink and awfully tempting. She felt him place his hands on her waist; he stayed her, gently holding her just before him. A stray lock of sandy hair had fallen into his eyes as he looked down. "If..."

" _Yes_ ," Hermione told him, somehow a little breathlessly.

Remus bent down toward her then, closer, and she thought,  _he's going to kiss me – Remus is going to kiss me_.

A tingling warmth spread across her skin as their lips brushed, ever so lightly, then met. She was kissing Remus Lupin. She could feel his gentle mouth and smell the clean, dark scents of soap and cologne on his skin, intermingling with the smells of the evening's mulled wine and mince pie, peppermint and Christmas spirit.

He pulled back; she gazed up at him, her lips slightly parted, undecided whether to examine the mouth she had just kissed, or the flush in his cheeks, the almost feverish blue eyes.

A tiny, waxy berry struck the bridge of his nose, bounced once, and promptly rolled off his cheek. Remus blinked.

"Oh," he said.

"I...think that's a good sign," said Hermione. "Maybe once all the berries have fallen..."

"Ah," Remus said. "And to do that..." He looked at her.

"Yes," she said. "More..."

Then his lips had found hers again – this time firmly, more eagerly, responsive to each tiny tilt of her head, to her movements as she shifted and pressed herself flush against his body. A fierce joy surged through her as his arms went around her, pulling her closer, holding her there. The tip of his tongue traced her lower lip, only briefly, but it drew a soft gasp from her, this confirmation that he wanted her, wanted more from her. She opened her mouth for Remus, heard him make a choked sort of sound in the back of his throat, a sound of  _need_ that sent new tingles down her spine. He pressed closer, one of his hands tangling in her hair, fingertips grazing the back of her head; the other hotly sliding down to find her hip, the small of her back. She could taste him now, could feel how his lips and hers were wet from their kisses. His tongue had become teasing, exploring rather than tentative, coaxing her mouth open. A heavy, warm arousal was growing inside her.

When he broke the kiss again she almost cried out, wanting him back, but the next moment Remus was kissing along her jaw, following it down onto the exposed skin of her neck. She couldn't help the whimper of need that rose in her throat. He wanted her...he wanted her, too.

Faint words in the background broke through into the buzzing of her mind, and she remembered only then where they stood:

_Lupin and Hermione are snogging in the kitchen._

_Oh, what?!_

_Don't be ridiculous. Lupin doesn't snog...oh._

The desire within her leapt when she felt the hard edge of a kitchen counter digging into the small of her back; at some point Remus must have walked her back, and now he was pressed up against her, pinning her against the counter, still kissing her mouth so fiercely––

Disappointment filled her in an instant when Remus abruptly broke the kiss, pulling away. Yet she could not fail to be stirred by the unmistakeable hazy look of desire she saw on his face, his half-lidded eyes and kiss-bruised lips; confirmations of how this, the snogging, had affected _him_ , too. He had to clear his throat before he could speak, though even then it came out low, husky.

"I...I think I'm, think I can move now," he managed to say, backing away another step from her; there was an expression like alarm fading across his face as he looked between them. "Thanks...thank you, Hermione." 

"Er – right," she said. "You're welcome?"

"Thanks," Remus repeated. She smiled, and tried not to watch as he wet his lips and swallowed. "So I think I'll––think I'll go and say hello to everyone out there, you know. And––hex one or both of the twins whilst I'm at it."

"Right," Hermione said. "Right, yes. Do that." 

Hermione watched Remus slip out of the kitchen, away from her (and caught a glimpse of Lavender, off in the next room, watching the two of them with round eyes). She could almost still taste him, feel his mouth on hers, kissing her hard. And his hands – he'd touched her, held her. He'd  _wanted_ her, or so it seemed. She had never thought of Remus this way in the past; she'd had a stray thought or two before imagining a kiss, yes, but nothing beyond that. She was thinking of it now, though. How very male he was, how firmly muscled his arm and chest and stomach had felt under her hands, through his clothes. And, too, how tall he was, and how much broader his shoulders were than her own.

How quickly he had fled the room! All that remained now as evidence of his former presence, and of what they'd done, was a smattering of the tiny berries from the mistletoe where they'd fallen onto the floor.

He'd left at once, yes, but he _had_ wanted her, she thought. Surely he had...perhaps even as badly as she now wanted him. It was a wholly unexpected want, one that seemed to have leapt into being, fully-formed, as soon as she'd set eyes on the mistletoe and felt the potential that suddenly existed between them. Her relationship with Remus had already evolved into a close friendship, and now, if earlier events had been any indication, there was potential for more. 

 _Much_ more.

She certainly intended to find out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus fights feelings, but ends up going home with Hermione. To talk.

"Wow, Remus...that was really something."

Remus looked sharply to the side to find Lavender Brown smiling at him.

"Pardon?"

"The _snog_ ," she clarified, mouthing the second word and pointing a finger discreetly behind one palm to indicate the direction of the kitchen (and therefore Hermione). "Are you two _together_ , or...?"

"N–No, we're not," Remus said immediately, trying not to sputter in the process. "Now, if you'll excuse me..." 

He hurried onwards, seeking both to escape Lavender and to put more distance between himself and the woman in the kitchen. Hermione. The woman he'd fairly  _attacked_ just a minute earlier. In the moments before he'd managed to pry himself off her, he'd caught himself thinking things he most certainly ought not tobe thinking about her. Such things! Terrible, awful, filthy things. The poor thing had only offered to spring him from his trap; not to be debauched by a lascivious man almost two decades older than her.

"Lupin!" 

Remus startled; he'd almost walked right into one of the men he yearned to hex. George was gripping him by the elbows, wearing an ear-to-ear beam. 

"See, Remus – knew you'd find someone!" George grinned. "Wasn't too bad in the end, eh?"

"Let me go," he said, evenly.

Though he had kept his tone suitably polite, George got the hint and quickly let go of Remus' arms, taking a step back.

"Look, Remus..."

"Who was eet, Remus?" It was Fleur who interrupted them now, looking at Remus interestedly. 

"Er - no one - it doesn't matter," Remus muttered, hoping Lavender would keep her mouth shut. Indeed, hoping that Hermione wouldn't say anything. Not, however, that he would blame her, if she wanted to complain about how lustfully he'd pounced on her just now. His face was feeling rather warm, and he noticed several more people were now paying attention to him, a situation which was highly unwelcome.

"What's got him all hot and bothered?" Tonks wondered cheerfully to her bemused partner, who shrugged.

"You mean  _who_ ," Lavender piped in, accompanying it with an infuriating giggle.

"Hermione!" said Harry's-other-former-classmate, whose name Remus still could not recall, and who at the moment he dearly wished to hex into little bits. "It was Hermione, I saw them snogging."

Remus was just contemplating the country to which he would exile himself when a cheerful voice cut in: "That's right."

It was Hermione, who had just joined them. "It was me. Now leave him alone, won't you? Show's over, Lavender," she added. 

Filled with grateful relief, which made for an odd combination mingled with the nerves aroused in him by Hermione's presence, Remus studiously ignored Hermione's attempts to make eye contact and instead skulked into a corner of the dining room. Thankfully, she did not follow him.

 _Probably afraid you'd assault her again, you lech,_ his mind contributed uncharitably.

But another, smaller voice suggested:  _Now really, Remus, she hardly looked unhappy. In fact, she couldn't get close enough to you, could she?_

_Well, what choice did you give her, shoving her against the counter like that?_

_Come now, give her some credit – surely it was her idea to start moving like that against you...putting her hands all over you––_

_––Trying to get you off her, probably!_

"Drink, Remus?" 

Harry was handing him a glass of amber liquid.

"Yes, please," said Remus forcefully.

 

* * *

 

Remus spent the rest of the evening consuming a moderate amount of alcohol – more than he usually would, though he still kept himself firmly in check – and actively avoiding the witch he now couldn't stop thinking about. She seemed to be temporarily allowing the avoidance, though from time to time he felt her eyes on him across the room, and once or twice he did not manage to keep himself from returning her smiles with what felt like a helpless, foolish one of his own. What was this odd energy that now chased him, that seemed to have bound him to her, and kept him orbiting her despite his many attempts to escape?

At the end of the night, Remus allowed two guests to bid their farewell, then another two, upon which he quickly summoned his cloak and made for the door, shaking hands and clasping shoulders as he went. _Goodbye, Arthur; goodnight, Molly; thanks very much indeed for such a lovely evening; no, no, don't worry about that; yes, I'm sure I'll be fine getting back;_  then off he went, easing open the front door and slipping off into sweet freedom, the frost of his breath dancing in the icy winter air.

Tramping through the snow in the front garden, nearly at the gate, he was commending himself for a swift exit when a strange and terrible phenomenon stopped him in his tracks: the snow before him was rising, growing into a sort of  _man_ , blocking his path. 

Remus promptly yanked out his wand.

"Hold on!" said the snowman. Oddly, it sounded like Hermione. "Hang on, Remus!"

When a hand suddenly found his shoulder, Remus yelped and jerked around – only to find that it belonged to a rather flushed, breathless Hermione.

"I just had to stop you," she told him apologetically; she was still doing up the buttons on her long grey overcoat. "You were walking so quickly, Remus."

"Yes, I was."  _To get away from you_ , he nearly said. "I'm sorry, I should have said goodbye. Goodnight, Hermione."

"Well, _wait_ , Remus." She finished buttoning up, and reached out to lay a soft hand on his forearm, a hand which seemed instantly to immobilise him. "Is that really all?"

He wet his lips nervously, glancing at the door to The Burrow in the distance. "Was there more?" 

"Remus," she said. "Let's talk about it. We must. Don't you think?"

He found his eyes repeatedly drawn to the red of her lips, her chestnut curls and the few clinging snowflakes that had begun to fall from the night sky around them. That mistletoe had done something to him.  "Oh," he said, belatedly, having missed a beat thanks to his traitorous eyes. She wanted him to acknowledge...she wanted an apology, he decided. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

She shook her head gently, sighed, then lifted her chin and looked right at him.

"Did you like it?"

His heart seemed to stop for a second. Was she truly asking him?

"Sorry?"

"Did you like it, Remus? When we kissed?"

His heart, having resumed its task, was now pounding. There were no corners to hide in, no uncertain words to deflect with now. He would have to admit it...he would have to tell her. Yet he could not, he must not. "Hermione..."

"Because I did, Remus. Very much so. Did you?"

Remus stared at her, into the warm brown eyes that held his gaze so steadily, held a sort of power over him. It felt as if she were drawing the truth from his lips:

"I did."

She smiled. "Then let's talk about it."

 

* * *

 

It was the reason he had agreed to go home with her. To talk. 

They would talk, and he would explain: explain why he should never have asked her to free him from the mistletoe; why it had been a terrible idea; why they ought never to kiss again.

That was the plan.

In reality, he had sat down on her sofa, she had sat down next to him, and he had uttered, "Hermione, we." Then she had laid one hand on his thigh and the other on his cheek and suddenly the words left his mouth. They left his brain, too, vacated as completely as schoolchildren on a summer break. Suddenly there was nothing in his mind except the fact that she looked lovely, beautiful, and she was looking at him as if thinking the same about him.

She'd leaned in, eyes on his, lashes sweeping low, and after a tense moment he'd shut his eyes and bridged the gap between their lips. It was intense right away, as if they had picked up exactly where they'd left off back in the kitchen under the mistletoe. Hermione tasted faintly sweet, like the memory of mulled wine and Christmas cake. Her taste and the gentle sweetness of her perfume were intoxicating him, filling his chest with the overwhelming sensations of love and desire. He wanted her; god, how he wanted her.

Remus kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw, pressed his lips to the tender skin of her neck, relishing the shiver she gave in his arms, the soft sounds that left her lips as he kissed down the arch of her throat. She clung closer to him, one hand buried in his hair, tugging and stroking, sending pulses of arousal through him. Distantly he registered that his hands were wandering, too, sliding under her shirt to find the warm, bare skin of her waist and stomach.

She surged forward to recapture his lips, until he was laying back against the arm of the sofa, Hermione's soft weight on his chest as she followed him. His hands explored the curve of her back, squeezed her arse through her jeans. Remus pulled her flush against him, then, and had to bite back a moan at the feeling of her pressed between his legs, and the look in her eyes when she looked up at him. He was hard, and she knew it.

"I want you, Remus," Hermione murmured.

Her words, and the way she'd said them, sent another bolt of lust through him; he felt his cock twitch, swelling further where it was trapped in his trousers. She wanted him. All the _ifs, whys, buts, shouldn'ts_ deserted him: she _wanted_ him.

She wanted  _him_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Hermione venture beyond the mistletoe's requirements.

Remus had a very talented mouth, but Hermione was soon distracted by the pressure of something hard she could feel more and more obviously against her thigh. Judging by the growing size of the stiffness pressing into her, Remus was enjoying this just as much as she was. He was flushed, and now he reached down in an attempt to discreetly adjust himself, but it was no use; for she followed his hand down and saw for herself the ridge that had risen in the crotch of his trousers.

"Fuck, Remus," she breathed, "is that all for me?"

"Herm––"

"Admit it," she added, giving him what she hoped was a come-hither smile.

"Fuck, Hermione, _yes_."

She gave a sigh of approval, sliding her hand down the flat of his belly and onto the thick ridge, to give it a firm squeeze through the fabric. She felt his cock jump in her hand, throbbing and swelling still larger as she rubbed slowly along its length.

"Fuck," Remus hissed. "You can't...we can't..."

"Yes, we can," she urged. "Can I see?" 

He was practically panting with arousal. To see Remus Lupin reduced to this, and because of her, was almost too much to handle. 

He nodded, then. Permission granted, Hermione helped him undo his belt, unbutton, unzip his fly. She freed his swollen erection from the constraints of his pants and watched it spring up, curving achingly toward his stomach.

"Remus," she murmured, staring at his rigid cock, "you better go easy on me."

They came together again in a fierce, bruising kiss, and she could feel the need in it, his and her own. The evidence of her effect on him, the desire in his eyes, all of it had gone straight to the warm arousal building between her thighs. He was hard for her, and she had grown so very wet for him; their bodies had no qualms about what they needed. 

"What would you like?" His voice dropped low now, hoarse with lust. His hands cupped her face, his thumbs stroking her skin fervently as he kissed her all over, each tender press of his lips a wordless confession. "Shall I touch you, Hermione? Where?" There was something unbearably erotic in his words, the suggestively polite veneer behind which hid shameless promises of carnal pleasure. 

"Everywhere," she confirmed. 

Now Remus' hands were on her jeans, unbuttoning and tugging, and then his fingers were rubbing against her through the thin fabric of her knickers. She bit her lip and pressed against his hand, lips parting, mouth opening as she yearned for more, needed more. When she met Remus' eyes again they were dark with arousal, watching the pleasure on her face.

"So wet," he murmured. 

He slipped an exploring hand into her knickers, making her moan as his fingers teased her, slid along her, not quite entering her.

"More," she managed, "Remus, I need..."

Remus smiled; he pressed in, tenderly, sinking one finger into her, then two, his breathing growing more ragged at the feeling of her tight around him as he slid in deeper, then drew out, searching out an intimate rhythm. Now his thumb teased her, too, in tender circles, stroking, urging, until she gasped and held tightly to him as he brought her over the edge.

She heard him say, "God, Hermione," before she kissed him, hard, tasting the need on his tongue as she came down from the climax. He squeezed her arse, gripped the backs of her thighs, his fingers on one hand slick against her skin. They kissed for a long moment, her every sense filled with nothing but him, his heat and scent and the taste of his mouth on hers.

"I want you inside me," she whispered, flicked her tongue against the shell of his ear before drawing back to look at him.

Remus swallowed, blue eyes fixed on hers; his face was a reflection of the aching lust she felt inside.

"Hermione..."

She slid her knickers down, left them on the floor by the sofa with the rest of her clothes, then repositioned herself on top of Remus. His erection was hot and stiff against her thigh. She began to unbutton his shirt, taking her time, watching the inches of his bare chest revealed beneath her travelling fingers. 

"Yes?"

"What are we...what is..."

"I don't know," she admitted. She pushed his shirt open and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the centre of his chest, wanting him still more when she felt the heat of his flesh against her. "But I want you, Remus. I really want you."

She smiled against his stomach at the sound she drew from his throat as her kisses wandered lower. There would be no more questioning, then. Good. 

Slipping down to her knees beside him, she wrapped a hand slowly around Remus' cock, feeling the heat of the thick shaft as she stroked him. When she looked up he was watching her, lips parted, eyes hazy with lust.

"Shall I touch you?" she teased. She leaned in, brought her mouth inches from him, knowing he could feel the heat of her breath. "What would you like?"

"God, yes––" He looked fevered, beautifully desperate, his sandy hair untidy from her fingers. And he was hard, so hard, in her hand. "Touch me––Hermione, need your mouth––"

She took mercy on him, and on herself, for it was difficult too for her to resist. At the touch of her tongue on him Remus tipped his head back, mouth opening, fingers tangling blindly in her hair as she licked and sucked him slowly into her mouth. He was throbbing, she could feel it. When she next glanced up again he locked eyes with her, and the intimacy of it, with him, with Remus, made her heart thump still a little faster. He was flushed, undone, because of her; for her.

The emotion seemed contagious. Remus reached for her, sitting up as he did, and as she climbed into his lap to sit across him she bent down to meet his lips in a long, slow kiss.

"Still want me?" he murmured. "Inside?" 

His fingers trailed lightly up and down her sides; his hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs making her shiver again. Hermione nodded, caressing his cheek and neck as she slipped a hand to his shoulder, leaning forward and breathing him in as she reached down to stroke him. Remus drew a slow breath, letting it out in a soft sigh that stirred the hairs on the back of her neck. He gave her earlobe a gentle nip. She eased up, began to lower herself, then paused, biting her lip at the feeling of Remus pressed against her. 

"Slowly, at first," she said; his eyes were heavy-lidded, tender. "And then...we'll see."

He flashed a smile, a dirty one, then bit back a gasp as she sank very slowly onto him, taking his thick shaft into her inch by heated inch. She could feel Remus sinking deeper, stretching her, until finally she felt so completely, utterly filled by him. She did not know what this was, what they were, but she knew she wanted it – wanted him.

Remus was leaving hot kisses along her collarbone, upon her breast; she could feel his restraint, the trembling in him as he stayed still inside her, not moving, letting her adjust to his size. After another moment she put her arms around his neck, leaned forward into him as she raised her hips, lowered them, finding a slow, tantalising, excruciating rhythm. His hands found the curve of her hips, then, and gripped tight as he let her ride him.

"Fuck," he mumbled. " _Hermione_." His eyes flickered open, searching for hers as she let her forehead rest upon his. They kissed again. He took her mouth more urgently now, the urgency gradually infusing the rest of them as Remus began to meet her movements with his own, beginning to lose his restraint as she started to move more quickly against him.

"Fuck me, Remus," she breathed. 

Remus let out a groan at her words, drawing from her a gasp of pleasure when he thrust up into her properly for the first time. He did it again, his cock penetrating deep inside her, and then again, until her nails found the skin of his shoulders.

"Slowly?" he panted, lips quirking into a teasing grin. The grin grew wolfish at her reply:

"God, no."

Remus kissed her fiercely, staying inside her as he turned to pin Hermione beneath him on the sofa. They both groaned when he drew out and buried himself deep again; and he thrust again, searching out an urgent rhythm, the pleasure inside her mounting as he fucked her harder, faster. She came again, gasping as he moved inside her, feeling his cock grow still harder as his thrusts grew uneven, less controlled. She felt so full of Remus, feeling every inch of him as he filled her again and again. He buried himself deep once more, hips moving urgently against her, and now she could feel him pulsing inside her, flooding her with a liquid heat as he pulled her into him and held her tight. It overwhelmed her, the sensations, the closeness, the immense emotion she felt for him in that moment. 

As they came down together, breathing hard, she brought Remus' lips to hers for another long, earnest kiss. He gazed into her eyes for a long while, their bodies still so intimately joined, and she thought about his warmth and tenderness and the man he was. She hadn't known what to expect after all that had happened with the mistletoe, but what she felt for him now made her wish, dearly, that he felt something like it for her; that he wanted more, wanted to be more. She hoped that the soft look in his eyes was an indication.

Later that night as they fell asleep together, Hermione found herself drifting off to the gentle strokes of Remus' fingers through her hair.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus isn't sure what he's gotten himself into, but he's happy.

He could still feel her all around him.

Waking up with a woman in his arms was already a rare position for Remus to find himself in, so it was understandable that it took his brain a good several seconds to recognise that the woman in his arms now was Hermione Granger. Warm, fiercely talented, unacceptably attractive – all things he had thought of her but now thought with much greater permission. For it was acceptable to think these things, perhaps, now that he was holding the object of these affections in his arms, and the two of them were very much still naked.

_What have we done?_  part of him panicked, and another part answered with a flood of memories from the night before, memories that made his heart swell with emotion and then quicken. Remus shut his eyes, but he could still smell that sweet, intoxicating scent that had driven him to lustful madness. Again he wanted to touch her, to see the pleasure in her face and know that he was the cause of it, wanted to thrust into her body and claim her just as she had done to him. Then he wanted to hold her close again, to kiss and talk in low voices scratchy with exertion and desire and possibly something like love. 

He was beginning to drift off again when she stirred in his arms, and when he blinked open his eyes again he found her watching him, a soft smile upon her lips. He felt himself returning it, automatically, instinctively, his insides warmed by the affection he saw in her brown eyes.

"Hi," she whispered, and he returned her greeting with a kiss.

 

* * *

 

"A perfect love story for the Christmas season," declared George.

Fred cocked an eyebrow. "Not a love story, surely. More a lust story."

"It's a love story," George insisted, adding, eyes twinkling, "And I wrote it."

It was an achievement he was permitted to claim, for no one else contradicted him, and the two new lovebirds were now too happy and wrapped up in each other to care. No matter how it had started, what was important was that it had. And what Fred did not know, and as far as Remus and Hermione were concerned had no business knowing, was that mistletoe was now a staple of Christmas at the Granger-Lupin household. They always hung it in the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin. A short wrap! (Finally.)


End file.
